Prisoner of a Broken Heart
by irishileana
Summary: I can't write summaries, especially because in most of my stories you have to read to find out who I'm talking about. But, basically, a woman is running away from the man she loves.


A/N: This story is dedicated to that one anonymous reviewer on who has been giving me great reviews.

Thank you!

I was trying to think of an idea for this, my next short story, and, as usual, something random popped into my head.

I'm listening to "Where No One Knows Me" by Jann Arden, so . . . it kind of affects the story a bit.

Disclaimer: Despite what you think, anonymous, I am not J.K.R., and therefore do not own Harry Potter. So, please, don't sue. And, if you do, you obviously have nothing better to do. So you smell.

Here we go.

She raced frantically through the crowd of people. She wasn't able to tell if he had seen her, but, if he had, she knew that she could not be seen again. It was far too dangerous. And if she saw him again, would she be able to contain herself?

The baby in her arms stirred and cried out from being jostled so much. Quickly, she dipped her finger into a silver mixture and brushed it against the darling girl's face. Almost immediately, the infant fell asleep again.

Already, the darling was growing a soft fuzz of black hair, and her eyes were slowly turning a deep, dark blue. She was loved intensely by her mother, but would her father even care? Would he even spare the young child's life?

The woman doubted it.

"Hey!" A familiar voice caused her to hesitate. She whirled around (which was rather hard in the crowd of screaming people) and saw, to her dismay, the surprised, confused, and bright green-eyed face of Harry Potter.

She couldn't exactly pretend that she hadn't heard him, because he now knew that she had.

"I haven't seen you in so long. Not since . . ." Harry fell silent. She knew. Not since Ron had been murdered by Lord Voldemort. Ronald Weasley, their best friend and who she thought she would be with forever, and all of his family: from old, childish Arthur to young, fiery Ginny. Even Fleur, Ron's brother Bill's gorgeous wife, had been killed. Just because they were all too close to Harry.

She knew that her death could come just as easily. And now . . .

She remembered. This wasn't a time to talk. This was a time to run. Without explanation, without even saying a hasty "See ya!", she turned away from Harry and made her way through the mob. She could hear him calling her. But she could not return. She could not risk being seen. Too much was at stake here.

She was almost to a clearing. She had almost made it. She was almost free.

She was almost imprisoned in her own broken heart . . .

When he called her name.

Her heart sank to the cracked, bloody, muddy ground. If only she hadn't stopped! She felt someone's warm arm on her own. She winced. But the warmth also gave her such a sense of wanting . . . longing . . .

_Keep yourself together, girl._ she reminded herself. _This isn't the time. He doesn't love you, and you don't love him. Remember that!_

_Please!_

He spun her around to face him.

"I thought I saw you. What . . . what are you doing here?" She closed her eyes tight and shuddered.

"I was trying to leave just now." But it was too late. He'd seen her. And that look in his eyes . . . he was going to kill her, she knew.

Evidently it had just been her that had felt the love. No . . . the infatuation. Simply her . . . not him. Yet somehow, the newborn in her arms had happened . . . but it obviously wasn't a product of love, or anything like love. Just lust.

She should have known that. He didn't love anybody. And she didn't care what happened to her. But her baby . . .

"You can kill me, but don't touch my daughter." She uttered fiercely, sounding much more confident than she felt.

He glanced down at the young child in surprise. He evidently hadn't noticed her earlier.

His eyes widened and his mouth opened, ever so slightly, as he realized what she meant. Not her daughter . . . their daughter.

He didn't know what to think. He felt so many emotions: surprise, confusion, joy, fear . . . love? And, at a normal time, he would have only felt one. Hatred.

As he stared into the sweet, sleeping face of his young daughter, he softened. She was so beautiful, so perfect . . . like her mother.

He loved his child. And he loved . . .

She watched him for a long time. Finally, he broke his gaze with the infant. He lifted the small one from her mother's arms. Her mother made a noise of fear and irritation as he gave the youngster to one of his followers. She didn't hear him mutter to the flunky: "Don't hurt her."

Then, he grasped the mother's shoulders, brought her close, and whispered into her ear . . .

"I love you, Hermione."

He brought her into a soft kiss. Tears ran down her face. It took a long time for him to let go of her. When he did, he stared her straight in her red-eyed face. But, before he could say anything else, she spoke, gently, quietly, but not so that nobody could hear. In fact, she said it with such intensity, that everyone stopped screaming, and everyone heard her words.

"I love you, too, Tom Riddle." She did not call him by his well-known name. She knew him as Tom, not Voldemort. She knew him as her love, not as the one who murdered her love.

She had loved him when she had loved Ron. She had been so confused then. It had taken her so long to realize that you could love two people.

"I know you do. But yours and my life cannot become together. We love each other, but it just won't work. My life is this. And yours is calmer, quieter . . . more loving.

"So go. Take your daughter with you. Our destiny was to be apart. No matter how hard it is."

And that was the difference between her love with Ron and her love with Tom. She was meant to be with Ron. True, Tom had robbed her of that, but she could have possibly been with Ron. And With Tom . . . well, with Tom, it could never be.

Hermione gave her beloved one last kiss, picked up her brown suitcase, took her child, and, without daring glance at Harry's face, ran the rest of the way through the crowd.

She could see the clearing. She rushed to it.

To be safe.

To be free . . .

But to be alone.

To be a prisoner of her own broken heart.


End file.
